I am a taphophile. That is, I love cemeteries, tombs, gravestones etc. Don't let the suffix, -phile mislead you, for my passion is of a non-sexual nature. I am, however, often reluctant to use the term 'taphophile', for fear of misinterpretation of its meaning, by those who may not understand the term. When discussing my hobby, I just say "I am a cemetery enthusiast".
A lot of people don't understand my attraction to cemeteries, and frankly I don't understand why I love them, either. For you see, when I was a child, I was terrified of graveyards.
One of my earliest memories involves my mother taking me to a cemetery in Bristol, VT. I must have been two or three. I wasn't afraid, being too young to know what a cemetery was. It didn't occur to me that there were dead people under my feet. As far as I was concerned, those big stone things were for climbing. I recall attempting to scale an obelisk, only to have Mom pluck me off the monument.
As I got older, and I learned what cemeteries were, I developed a mild phobia of cemeteries, mixed with fascination. When one of my older sisters made me take a shortcut through a cemetery I was terrified, not because I was afraid of ghosts (the idea that a cemetery could be haunted never even crossed my mind), but because I was walking on dead people. I remember being disturbed by the sight of a baby's gravestone, shaped like a teddy bear.
When my sisters told me to hold my breath whenever we passed a cemetery, and keep holding my breath until we saw a white house, I complied, even though they never told me why I should hold my breath.
But it wasn't all fright and superstition. There were laughs, too. For as long as I can remember, every time we'd drive past a graveyard my Dad would point and say, "Hey kids, people are dying to get in there,". No matter how old the joke got, I always insisted on hearing it.
In the fifth grade, the special Civil War class I was taking (the school I was attending did elective classes, such as drama, or French. You signed up on a first come first serve basis) took a trip to a cemetery in Burlington. We were looking for the graves of Union generals and soldiers and I took the entire adventure very seriously. I prayed at the graves we visited and even scolded the ear off of a classmate who broke a child's gravestone by sitting on it. I remember the grave that he had broken had a lamb statue on it, and was in the segregated African American section of the cemetery. I remember our teacher (who was also the school sheriff) explaining to us that this part of the cemetery was in bad shape, because of racism.
Around the age of 10, while reading up on ghosts, I finally figured out that cemeteries could be haunted. I reacted to this idea with fear and curiosity. I wanted to go to a cemetery and conjure up some ghosts. As I grew up, my fear of cemeteries turned into a fascination. When my 7th grade social studies class went on a field trip to a local cemetery too look for the graves of notable historical citizens, I was so excited I didn't even bother doing our assignment, I just wandered around in a state of joy.
For a long time, cemetery visits were a rarity. I vaguely recall visiting a small 19th century cemetery in Willsboro, NY one humid July 4th, but other than that, my curiosity went unsatisfied.
It wasn't until I moved to Bellows Falls VT, that I started to become a full blown taphophile. I loved going to cemeteries now, dragging friends along with me. When I couldn't find anyone to join me, I'd go by myself, though I felt uncomfortable doing so, due to a slight fear of ghosts.
One day, in fall of 2007, I happened upon a website named Grave Addiction. It was like the heavens had opened up and shone down upon me. Not only could I enjoy cemeteries from all over the country without having to leave my house, but I had gleaned some very important knowledge. I was not alone. There were others like me out there. Other people who shared a deep passion for cemeteries, funerals and the fine art of mourning. Beth's website inspired me to fully embrace my love for graveyards and, what started as a fascination became a part of my identity. When I go on long road trips, I count how many cemeteries we drive by. I walk long distances just to visit a favorite graveyard.
And yet, the old fears never left me. I still won't go into cemeteries at night, at least not by myself. I don't know where this particular phobia came from, but it seems to stem more from a primeval fear of the dark, of the unknown, than the cemetery itself. There could be anything hiding in the gloom- ghosts, monsters, psycho murderers, Snooki.
I also can't go into certain cemeteries by myself, even in the daytime. For instance, I've had so many paranormal experiences in Oak Hill cemetery in Bellows Falls VT, that I just won't go in there alone (though I've still had some eerie experiences even with a companion). I'm working on this fear, by daring myself to go into creepy cemeteries on my own. I've even developed a mantra to help me "The dead can't hurt me. It's the living I've got to fear".
How did I go from being afraid of cemeteries, to loving them? How can I both fear and love something? I've gone over this again and again. Why do I love cemeteries? Why am I so fascinated by the macabre? Why am I so drawn to death, despite my fears? Is it my fear that attracts me? There aren't any simple answers, I'm afraid. Nothing that I can interpret from my brain to the keyboard (curse you, Non-verbal Learning Disorder! Curse you!), at least. I think the best I can do, is stop thinking about the why of things, and just enjoy being a taphophile.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
My Weirdest Cemetery Experiences
I love cemeteries. Really, I do. During spring, summer and fall, I visit them as often as I can. Most of these visits are pleasant, relaxing even. I see interesting gravestones, and sometimes spot wildlife. But every so often, while I'm taking in the tombs, something completely bizarre will happen.
In this blog, I will describe the six weirdest things that have ever happened me in a cemetery. I've probably got more than six, but these are the ones I remember. Each one will be given a rating of 1-10, 1 being "A Little Odd" and ten being "Completely Fucking Bizarre". Enjoy...
1. The Peacocks
One day, in the summer 0f 2007, I was walking through Restland Cemetery, in Bellows Falls, VT. By the fence on the far side of the cemetery, I saw a large white shape. The first thought that came to my mind was that I was seeing a ghost. So I started to move towards it, to get a better look.
It wasn't a ghost. It was an albino peacock! Behind it, was another, smaller peacock, a female, though not albino. I know what you're thinking. Peacocks? In a Vermont cemetery? Astounded, I ran out of the cemetery and down the street to my friends Lauren's house. I needed a second witness, to prove that I wasn't hallucinating. Lauren wasn't home, but her Uncle was and he went out to the cemetery with me, to take a look. We stood at the fence near the gate, and I pointed out the two birds. No, I wasn't hallucinating. Yes, those were peacocks. Probably somebody's pets, he reasoned. I thanked him, and went back into the cemetery. I continued to watch the peacocks, hiding behind a large monument so as not to startle them. At some point, a man and a woman about my age took a shortcut through the graveyard, walking right past the peacocks. They didn't seem to notice the two exotic birds that were less than ten feet away from them. They were oblivious, much to my surprise. In the 4 years since, I never saw those peacocks again, though I've been to Restland hundreds of times. On a scale of 1 to 10 in the Weirdness, this experience was a 10. Completely Fucking Bizarre.
2. The Impromptu Concert
Another summer day, this time in 2008. I was taking a walk, when I noticed I was being followed by two girls who I had had some problems with in high school. Paranoid, I tried to evade them. I turned onto the street that led to St. Immanuel Episcopal cemetery, also in Bellows Falls, VT. They continued to follow me. Starting to feel a little bit nervous (understatement of the century), I entered the cemetery, hoping they wouldn't follow me in there. But just being in the little churchyard wasn't good enough. They'd still see me in the older section, so I started to climb the steep hill up into the more hidden new section of St. Immanuel's, which has a scattering of new headstones and a memorial garden. I could have taken the asphalt path that led up there, but I was panicking, and not thinking so clearly as a result. Once I reached the top of the hill, I was treated to the site of two men playing drums and the didgeridoo. I was surprised, but not frightened. These were just two men playing music, not two teenage girls with a grudge. So I plopped down onto the grass and listened to the impromptu concert. When they finished playing, I talked to the two gentleman for a little bit. They proved to be very polite and pleasant company.
On a scale of 1-10 this little episode was about a 6. It was weird, but considering the fact that I live in VT, not terribly uncommon.
3. The Crow Wing
I was in Old South Church Cemetery, in Windsor, VT, in April of 2010 when I stumbled across a rather grisly sight. At the base of an early 19th century gravestone, lay a dismembered bird wing. A large one. I suspected it was a crow. It had been torn off at the joint, probably by a predator. I looked around for other bird parts, but only the wing remained. Curious, I took a stick and flipped the wing over, to check the feathers for markings. Glossy black feathers, but no markings. It probably belonged to a crow or a raven. I assumed it was a crow, because there were a whole bunch of them in the trees above me. And that's where it gets weird (as if finding a dismembered crow wing wasn't weird enough). As soon as I had moved the wing, the living birds above my head began to squawk angrily at me, as if scolding me for disturbing that wing. I apologized, and moved the wing back into the position I found it (using the stick, I never touch a wild animal carcass with my bare hands). When I went to the cemetery the next day, the wing was gone, probably carried off by a scavenger.
I give this one about a 5. It was sinister, it was creepy, but bits of dead animals are a part of nature.
4. The Cemetery Gnome
In either late summer or early fall of 2010, I was wandering Restland Cemetery when I stumbled across a garden gnome. A garden gnome. It looked like a vintage one too, sitting at the base of a 19th century headstone. Where the hell did it come from? Amused, I snapped a picture of it on my camera. A few weeks later, I showed the picture to some acquaintances. When I went to the cemetery again, the gnome was gone. Was it stolen? Did it just get up and walk away? My guess is the former, but I'll never know. All in all the experience was about an 8. It was just weird.
5. Robert Frost's Tupperware.
On the eve of my twentieth birthday, my mother and I were driving to my aunt's house in NY. We passed through Bennington, VT, and as a treat, my mom stopped to take me to the Old Bennington Cemetery. Robert Frost is buried there, and the first thing we did, was find his grave. As we paid our respects, I noticed an empty Tupperware container sitting next to his grave. Where did it come from? Did somebody have a picnic and just leave it behind? Odd. I'm giving this one a 1. It's weird, but not as weird as the gnome.
6. Squirrel Attack
Once again, we find ourselves in Old South Church Cemetery. So here I am, walking under some pine trees by the cold storage crypt when I hear a loud thump behind me. Assuming it's a ghost, I scream and jump about a foot in the air. But there were no ghosts here. Just a pine cone. A pine cone had fallen and nearly hit me. I look up, and sitting in the tree is a squirrel, screaming indignantly at me. Had the squirrel thrown the pine cone at me? Probably not. But the thought's a funny one. I give it a 1. It's really not so much weird, as it was hilarious.
In this blog, I will describe the six weirdest things that have ever happened me in a cemetery. I've probably got more than six, but these are the ones I remember. Each one will be given a rating of 1-10, 1 being "A Little Odd" and ten being "Completely Fucking Bizarre". Enjoy...
1. The Peacocks
One day, in the summer 0f 2007, I was walking through Restland Cemetery, in Bellows Falls, VT. By the fence on the far side of the cemetery, I saw a large white shape. The first thought that came to my mind was that I was seeing a ghost. So I started to move towards it, to get a better look.
It wasn't a ghost. It was an albino peacock! Behind it, was another, smaller peacock, a female, though not albino. I know what you're thinking. Peacocks? In a Vermont cemetery? Astounded, I ran out of the cemetery and down the street to my friends Lauren's house. I needed a second witness, to prove that I wasn't hallucinating. Lauren wasn't home, but her Uncle was and he went out to the cemetery with me, to take a look. We stood at the fence near the gate, and I pointed out the two birds. No, I wasn't hallucinating. Yes, those were peacocks. Probably somebody's pets, he reasoned. I thanked him, and went back into the cemetery. I continued to watch the peacocks, hiding behind a large monument so as not to startle them. At some point, a man and a woman about my age took a shortcut through the graveyard, walking right past the peacocks. They didn't seem to notice the two exotic birds that were less than ten feet away from them. They were oblivious, much to my surprise. In the 4 years since, I never saw those peacocks again, though I've been to Restland hundreds of times. On a scale of 1 to 10 in the Weirdness, this experience was a 10. Completely Fucking Bizarre.
2. The Impromptu Concert
Another summer day, this time in 2008. I was taking a walk, when I noticed I was being followed by two girls who I had had some problems with in high school. Paranoid, I tried to evade them. I turned onto the street that led to St. Immanuel Episcopal cemetery, also in Bellows Falls, VT. They continued to follow me. Starting to feel a little bit nervous (understatement of the century), I entered the cemetery, hoping they wouldn't follow me in there. But just being in the little churchyard wasn't good enough. They'd still see me in the older section, so I started to climb the steep hill up into the more hidden new section of St. Immanuel's, which has a scattering of new headstones and a memorial garden. I could have taken the asphalt path that led up there, but I was panicking, and not thinking so clearly as a result. Once I reached the top of the hill, I was treated to the site of two men playing drums and the didgeridoo. I was surprised, but not frightened. These were just two men playing music, not two teenage girls with a grudge. So I plopped down onto the grass and listened to the impromptu concert. When they finished playing, I talked to the two gentleman for a little bit. They proved to be very polite and pleasant company.
On a scale of 1-10 this little episode was about a 6. It was weird, but considering the fact that I live in VT, not terribly uncommon.
3. The Crow Wing
I was in Old South Church Cemetery, in Windsor, VT, in April of 2010 when I stumbled across a rather grisly sight. At the base of an early 19th century gravestone, lay a dismembered bird wing. A large one. I suspected it was a crow. It had been torn off at the joint, probably by a predator. I looked around for other bird parts, but only the wing remained. Curious, I took a stick and flipped the wing over, to check the feathers for markings. Glossy black feathers, but no markings. It probably belonged to a crow or a raven. I assumed it was a crow, because there were a whole bunch of them in the trees above me. And that's where it gets weird (as if finding a dismembered crow wing wasn't weird enough). As soon as I had moved the wing, the living birds above my head began to squawk angrily at me, as if scolding me for disturbing that wing. I apologized, and moved the wing back into the position I found it (using the stick, I never touch a wild animal carcass with my bare hands). When I went to the cemetery the next day, the wing was gone, probably carried off by a scavenger.
I give this one about a 5. It was sinister, it was creepy, but bits of dead animals are a part of nature.
4. The Cemetery Gnome
In either late summer or early fall of 2010, I was wandering Restland Cemetery when I stumbled across a garden gnome. A garden gnome. It looked like a vintage one too, sitting at the base of a 19th century headstone. Where the hell did it come from? Amused, I snapped a picture of it on my camera. A few weeks later, I showed the picture to some acquaintances. When I went to the cemetery again, the gnome was gone. Was it stolen? Did it just get up and walk away? My guess is the former, but I'll never know. All in all the experience was about an 8. It was just weird.
5. Robert Frost's Tupperware.
On the eve of my twentieth birthday, my mother and I were driving to my aunt's house in NY. We passed through Bennington, VT, and as a treat, my mom stopped to take me to the Old Bennington Cemetery. Robert Frost is buried there, and the first thing we did, was find his grave. As we paid our respects, I noticed an empty Tupperware container sitting next to his grave. Where did it come from? Did somebody have a picnic and just leave it behind? Odd. I'm giving this one a 1. It's weird, but not as weird as the gnome.
6. Squirrel Attack
Once again, we find ourselves in Old South Church Cemetery. So here I am, walking under some pine trees by the cold storage crypt when I hear a loud thump behind me. Assuming it's a ghost, I scream and jump about a foot in the air. But there were no ghosts here. Just a pine cone. A pine cone had fallen and nearly hit me. I look up, and sitting in the tree is a squirrel, screaming indignantly at me. Had the squirrel thrown the pine cone at me? Probably not. But the thought's a funny one. I give it a 1. It's really not so much weird, as it was hilarious.
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